


Callus

by vaudevilles



Category: Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-30
Updated: 2010-07-30
Packaged: 2017-10-10 20:52:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/104152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaudevilles/pseuds/vaudevilles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't something Chris thought about really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Callus

The first hand Chris felt on his dick was rough. It didn't disturb him, in fact he liked the way the calluses from his after school gardening job felt when he slid his hand over himself and fucked into it. Like he was a man. More man than the pussy sixth graders his mom kept wanting him to hang out with when he'd much rather be sure they had hamburger helper twice a week, not just once.

In fact he liked the feeling of roughness so much it wasn't really a surprise when he figured out, aged fourteen, that girls' hands, and all their other bits, weren't going to do it for him.

It was the snag of the thick skin on Mark Skinner's palm dragging over his foreskin when he was fifteen that confirmed it. He came so hard his legs wouldn't hold him up. Mark laughed at him as he slid down the wall at the back of the skate-rink, before offering Chris a hand up so they could get back to scrubbing down the bleachers.

***

It wasn't something Chris thought about really. He liked guys who knew what they were doing. Guys who were physical and could handle his cock in a way that felt confident and hard. It got him off. Every time.

And he was doing enough manual labor that his hands never softened, so if there wasn't some guy around to do it for him he could rub himself with his callused fingers rough on his balls, the thickened pads on his thumb sending their own shock-waves through him.

Then he managed to make his Universal gig segue into forming this vocal group and Chris pushed the quick, dirty sex he loved to the back of his mind. It wasn't that he didn't occasionally crave a good hard hand to wrap around his dick and toughened fingers in his ass. But it seemed more important to noogie Justin's head between rehearsals, to substitute cheezewhiz for toothpaste in JC's dopp kit and tie Joey and Jason's shoelaces together under the breakfast table.

The guys were pretty cool. Annoying and young, and none of them had ever worked in a job that left you sweaty and your palms bleeding. But they had solid handshakes and when they sang together the five of them almost sounded like the click in Chris' head that promised success.

Life was pretty good. Rehearsals sucked harder than a hooker on a deadline, and the three jobs he was working gave him barely enough to give Taylor the gymnastic lessons she was begging his mom for and allow him to put in his share of the bills. But Lou was promising them a deal. A good one.

And then Jason pulled out of the band. Chris bit the skin around his cuticles so badly he kept leaving little spots of blood on his clothes.

***

Justin's mom found them Lance.

Lance, who made the Virgin Mary look like a one-bit whore, had rhythm but no funk, and a haircut Chris would have maimed a stylist for. But his voice combined with the rest of theirs caused the click in Chris' head to ring like a bell.

"He's a bit... flamey," JC whispered to Chris as Lynn and Diane tried to sort out where in the house Lance would sleep.

Chris looked at him incredulously.

"Jayce, even with your haircut, nobody's going to notice Reba over there with the way you prance around when you're excited."

In the resulting scuffle Chris forgot about the way Lance's hand felt as they shook on the deal. Forgot how smoothly it'd slid against the calluses that even eight months of just singing and waiting tables hadn't completely softened. Forgot the velvety grasp that caused the hair on Chris' arms to prickle up and left the taste of fresh buttered bread in his mouth. Lance had a firm handshake, but he was too young, too sleek and soft for Chris. And he was going to be their bass, so. Totally forgotten.

He didn't think about Lance's grip two days later as a carpenter he'd picked up in the line at McDonalds jerked him off ruthlessly amongst the discarded wrappers in the alleyway. Chris sucked the guy off in gratitude and when the guy gave him a hand up off his knees he wasn't comparing anything at all.

***

Eight months later and Chris' hands still had calluses from playing guitar, but the hardened patches on his palms that he'd had since he was eleven had softened. But the state of his hands wasn't something Chris felt like he needed to worry about. He bit his nails to the quick and moisturizer was a terrible substitute for lube so why bother? Admittedly his cuticles fought for the bane of Lou's existence with his hair, but as long as Chris didn't actually attack his nails during an interview, Lou kept his bitching to the floppy half-dreaded locks.

Being in Germany didn't make it easy to pick up. Chris' German was improving but his gaydar was totally fritzed out by being in a different culture. He'd even offered a handjob to a dyke one night. Luckily she'd not only found it amusing as hell but had introduced "der kurzer blinder Mann" to her brother Georg - a scaffolder who had reasonable English and a totally unreasonable liking for Chris' dick.

Chris and Georg spent two months fucking whenever Chris had a day off. It was Chris' longest relationship since he'd formed the band. And the most sex he'd had in almost a year. But *nsync was getting too big and Lou too suspicious.

Chris broke up with Georg during another furtive night of fucking, after Chris had smuggled Georg up to the single room he'd paid JC off for, using his beloved supply of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. Georg jerked Chris off in the shower as a parting gesture, and as Chris panted around two of Georg's chapped fingers he almost regretted sacrificing his sex life for fame, fortune and the other guys.

After Georg, Chris swore off men. Too hard and too dangerous and he was perfectly able to satisfy himself thank you very much. And most of the time he was too tired, falling into bed with barely the energy to make a fist to fuck into.

Then they started choreography for I Want You Back.

It wasn't like Chris went around hand in hand with his band-mates. They were touchy-feely sure, and the German girls loved the puppy piles and the way they constantly had their arms around each others' shoulders. JC adored the pervy way girls would look at them as they crammed onto a couch for interviews, Justin mostly in Joey's lap. But holding hands wasn't something Chris did, even with his rare boyfriends. That was totally why he was finding the flips in the song so weird. He blamed the odd awareness of Lance he had every time they did them on the adrenaline he felt after not being dropped on his head.

By then he'd been celibate for four months, and whenever Chris had the energy to think about sex - whether it was remembering the rough thrust of Georg's fingers in his ass or thinking about the way he'd sucked off the cute roadie from Backstreet's tour - when he came it was invariably with the taste of newly made bread on the back of his tongue. He couldn't figure out why, but he certainly didn't have the stamina to stay awake after and try and work it out.

Lance kept looking at him kinda weirdly though.

***

They were performing _I Want You Back_ three or four times a day. Two days before Chris' birthday they did an interview with some weird Swiss programme in the morning. The banter flowed and Chris made the hot young VJ laugh by talking about how Lance's liking for country music meant he was the band's best yodeller. It wasn't his fault three of the teenies in the audience were champion yodellesses or whatever girl yodellers were called. Lance ended up valiantly doing a call and response thing with them. If looks could have killed Chris would have been eviscerated slowly with green eyes. He was pretty sure that Lance would have tidily and efficiently given his innards to old ladies to knit with if the killer stare had worked properly.

And then the VJ gave Lance a vague one-armed hug and introduced the song. Chris didn't mean to hesitate in the middle of the choreography, but the tingling awareness he'd been clamping down hit full force right as they finished the second chorus, and he fumbled getting into place so badly that Lance almost kicked him in the head.

So it completely wasn't fair for Johnny to lecture _Lance_ after the performance. Especially as Lance had been working harder than any of them on the moves and Johnny should have been complimenting Lance instead on how he was really beginning to get a lot more flow into his hips in the body rolls.

And then they were piling into the van to get to the next appearance - a five song set a hundred and seventy miles away. It wasn't that Chris was ignoring Lance, it was just easier to pull Justin down next to him and hand the Sega back and forth, so that Lance could rest up and try and forget his mistake.

***

The girls were screaming for them as they finished the fourth song of their set, and as Joey introduced the single Chris felt Lance's sideways glance like knitting needles were just inches away. He didn't hesitate before the flip this time, but threw himself so hard into the move that he stumbled on the landing and almost fell flat on his face.

He whispered "Sorry Bass," as they took their bow, and tried not to notice Lance's frown as he tugged his hand free to wave at the three blondes with the "We Love Chris" sign. He'd apologised for fucking it up and that was all he could do. Really. What more did Lance want?

They were barely off the stage before Lance went running for the van. Chris was sure it wasn't just Lance trying to escape the hour long autograph session. Something was definitely up. Luckily it was Joey's job to fix his best friend before their final show of the day - some nightclub performance a friend of Lou's had hooked up.

***

The leather trousers Chris was supposed to wear for the club gig were definitely not designed for boxers, briefs or even boxer briefs. And the shimmering black shirt was ever so slightly translucent. The other guys had similar outfits, except JC's pants were burgundy, Justin was wearing a sparkly wifebeater and Lance's shirt was definitely translucent and matched his eyes perfectly.

Chris had no idea why they were dressed like a bunch of rent boys, but wondering about their outfits on any given day would have sent his hair curlier than Justin's.

"Guess we're the bruisers in black again." Joey's shoulder to his ribs jostled Chris out of his thoughts, and he struggled to escape from the fireman's hold Joe had managed to trap him in. Someone whacked Chris on the butt, hard, and he tasted yeast as a glint of green passed his head.

"Hey. Kirkpatrick," Joey's voice reverberated through Chris' stomach as Joey bounced slightly on the spot, watching the rest of the guys get into the waiting elevator. "If you really wanna fuck up the gymnastics I'm happy to flip you off any time. Just stop messing with Lance's head, 'k?"

Spluttering indignation gave Chris motivation for a proper getaway and he nearly ended up on his head for the third time that day as he squirmed out of Joey's clutches and onto the hotel's threadbare carpet.

"Hey, you threw bendy-boy off his game in rehearsal last week with that hand buzzer I loaned you," Chris said defensively. "I just crapped out on a move today. That's all."

"You actually believe that huh?" Joey's voice was amused but the artic was threatening underneath. "Well you've gotta deal. Sort yourself out and fix things with Lance because this stuff goes hand in hand with Lou giving us all a paternal chat, and I'm not calling him Daddy whatever you do."

Joey turned his back on Chris, bashing the elevator button with the palm of his hand. They were both silent as they got into the van with the others.

***

Forgiveness took two hours and following through on Joey's dare to drink a frou frou green fruity thing that took all the skin off Chris' vocal cords. The five of them were still waiting to perform, although that was proving to be interesting as they'd managed to lose all their management quarter of an hour after they arrived at the club.

"Because, dude, I _never_ get to come clubbing 'cos of the stupid drinking age thing and I'll only have one and it won't affect me at all." Justin's whine was capable of deafening dogs at a distance of twenty feet when he really got started. So they'd had no choice really. And none of them were really drunk. Pleasantly buzzed perhaps. But certainly not enough to affect a performance.

Not that their performance mattered terribly tonight. The club was _definitely_ not their usual demographic. The darkness, smoke and thumping baseline distracted Chris from the clientele for all of two seconds before he realised that Lou's friend had booked them into a gay bar, and one that was having cage dancing competitions for the local twinks. It totally explained the rentboy chic.

It also meant Chris having to stop JC from entering the contest and Joey from macking on a lesbian, while making sure Justin didn't realise just why it took forever to queue for the washroom. Luckily Lance seemed content to watch the action from the bar, working on his hip rolls as the beat got more driving.

Chris _so_ deserved his two beers and the green monstrosity.

Luckily they were all still co-ordinated enough to get onto the tiny stage once management found them. And it wasn't like they couldn't all do the song in their sleep anyway. Chris was confident they'd be fine - even Justin, who had the alcohol tolerance of a teetotal gnat.

And then Lance grabbed Chris' hand as they prepared for the flip and every single bit of choreography flew south for the winter. Chris' awareness shrank down to the smooth grip of Lance's slightly slick hands in his. Impetus made the flip happen but Chris' brain was busy babbling about how much he wanted those soft hands wrapped around his dick. How he wanted to suck Lance's fingers as Lance fucked him and how utterly, thoroughly, mindlessly blind he'd been.

He forgot to let go.

Chris' knees met the stage with a bruising force but he managed to twist his upper body to the left so that his right shoulder took the brunt of the fall instead of his face. He'd have yelped, in a manly fashion obviously, if his mouth wasn't full of something that appeared to be Lance's arm. Oh God. He'd not only managed to send himself ass over teakettle but he'd brought Lance down with him and now they were tangled up together on the sticky floor of a gay nightclub's stage.

The other three were continuing like the consummate professionals they were and Chris hurriedly extracted his left foot from between Lance's thighs and his face from Lance's armpit and managing to get his feet under him. Unfortunately, as Chris attempted to lurch upwards, one flailing arm used Lance's thigh as leverage, and Lance ended up back on the floor, his eyes promising not just knitting needles, but crochet hooks and craft knives.

Chris could do nothing except mouth "Sorry, God. Sorry." and quickly offer Lance his hand to get up off the stage.

In his desperation to get the show back on track and forget the feel of Lance's muscled thigh under his fingers, Chris pulled too hard. Lance didn't just jump to his feet, he crashed front-on into Chris, ending up with a leg either side of Chris' right thigh.

Chris stayed upright through force of will. Unfortunately Chris' force of will hadn't quite caught up with recent events and the erection that had reared interestedly when Lance first held his hands mere seconds ago hadn't quite wilted.

Lance's eyes widened even more.

Then his green gaze narrowed.

The noise from the crowd changed from not very smothered laughter to roars of approval as Lance reached behind Chris, swatted his ass and then licked his cheek.

Chris had no idea how Lance got back into formation, or how they'd managed to finish the performance without more fumbles. Especially given at least eighty percent of his brain was bouncing between "Holy shit Lance _licked_ me," and imagining Lou going down on Lynn to try and reduce the blood flow to his groin. Obviously Chris' sister was right - he didn't need even half a brain to be in a boyband.

Management got them out of the club in a whirl, as glitter covered boys tried to get at Lance, who was being hustled out of the bar in the very middle of their small group. Chris did his own part in jostling them through the twinks and yuppy boys and then they were in the van.

Three matching accusing glares met him head on as they pulled away from the curb. But Chris was watching Lance stare out the window.

He took a breath to. He wasn't sure what. Apologise? Ask what the hell Lance had been thinking? Beg Lance to lick him again?

"Just don't Chris," Lance's voice was close to a growl, and his gaze out the window didn't waver.

For once in his life Chris decided discretion was the better part of valour. Besides if Lance didn't want to talk about it then Chris wouldn't have to address why he'd had a hard-on onstage. Chris wasn't JC, popping a happy wasn't part of his usual performance mode and Lance knew it.

By the time they got back to the hotel Chris had almost convinced himself that the moments where Lance's touch had him salivating to be fucked were an aberration brought on by too much performing. And possibly insanity resulting from a quarter life crisis. So he skipped taking the elevator with the others, instead bounding up the stairs, trying to calm his adrenaline racked nerves.

***

Chris was just finishing up in the bathroom when he heard the door to the room he was sharing with Joey close.

"I'll be done in a minute Joe," Chris yelled.

The bathroom door opened as Chris put his toothbrush back into his dopp kit.

"All minty fresh for me Chris?" Lance met his eyes for the first time since the disaster onstage. And. God. In them was heat and amusement and direct lust that went straight to Chris' dick.

In a move so effortless it would have had their choreographer creaming herself, Lance grabbed Chris' flimsy shirt in one hand and manhandled them out of the bathroom and against the wall of the bedroom.

"Wow, um. Yeah. Lance," Chris' brain had short-circuited his mouth and he had no idea what babble would emerge next. He was finding it very difficult to care however, as Lance had him pinned to the wall, one hand against Chris' chest, the other winding behind Chris' neck and tugging his hair so his head tilted back.

"Shhhhh," Lance's voice rumbled through Chris' chest as Lance slowly licked up the side of Chris' neck and bit into his ear.

"I'm sorry about the. I mean. I'm not sorry if this. Oh. _Fuck_." Chris' gabble faltered to a halt as his hands were pulled together and shoved above his head. Lance grasping both of Chris' wrists in one hand as he grinned down.

"Always wondered how much sense you'd make when someone was doing this to you," Lance muttered, and his lips descended towards Chris and took his mouth hard. Lance's kiss swept past Chris' teeth and Chris could do nothing except groan and suck on Lance's tongue, trying to make it the best kiss Lance had ever had so he wouldn't stop driving Chris insane with his mouth.

The kiss went on, and Chris knew his moans were getting more desperate around Lance's mouth as their tongues met and twined, Lance nipping at Chris' bottom lip, his free hand gripping the back of Chris' neck and forcing their mouths closer together.

Not that Chris was even thinking about escaping, hell, he barely felt himself get hard until Lance's leather-clad thigh suddenly pressed up against his erection. Then Lance's own substantial dick bore down at the crease between his groin and his hip and Chris tried to tear his hands out of Lance's grasp so that he could get at Lance's hot, heavy cock. Chris wanted to sink to his knees in front of Lance, wanted to sink down on Lance's dick, wanted to sink further and further into Lance's mouth until the noises they were making merged into one deep groan.

But Lance was pulling back slightly, his smile wicked as he kept Chris from moving, the bones in Chris' wrists rubbing against one another with a shock of pain that just brought everything into clearer focus.

"You know I've watched you looking at me," Lance murmured in Chris' ear. "I know you stare at my hips." Lance swivelled his hips so his cock finally brushed up against Chris', who groaned in disappointment as the gyration moved Lance's hardness away from where Chris wanted it.

"I know that you get turned on whenever I touch you, and that you want me to touch you like this." Lance ran his free hand down Chris' chest, popping the buttons as he went, before brushing just his fingertips around Chris' nipples.

"I didn't. Fuck. Oh God." Chris panted as Lance continued to tease his nipples, never giving them the solid pressure they craved. "No idea. Didn't. I wanted. Jesus." Chris' voice stuttered out as Lance finally took pity on him and pinched first one nipple then the other before bending to bite at them, sending bolts of electricity surging straight to Chris' aching cock.

"Please. Lance, please," Chris was near incoherency as Lance moved back up Chris' body, licking and sucking as he went, until his teeth closed over the big muscle between Chris' neck and shoulder. When Lance finally pulled away from the reddened bruise Chris' legs were shaking and he was struggling to form the words to beg Lance to get them naked.

When Lance stepped back away from him, freeing his wrists, only the wall kept Chris upright. How the _hell_ hadn't he known that Lance was like this?

Lance smiled, his eyes half hooded and glinting as he beckoned Chris towards him. Chris only managed to get his legs to work when Lance's shirt went over his head and Chris could see his erect nipples and the light dusting of hair leading from Lance's belly button down to where his pants bulged with his erection.

In two steps Chris had his shirt off and was working on the button fly of his leathers, his attention momentarily distracted from the way Lance was running one hand leisurely down his chest and over his cock before trailing back up to twist his nipple.

Chris managed to get three of the five buttons undone before Lance grew impatient, grabbing Chris by the arms and backing him into the nearest bed, sending Chris sprawling onto his back and scrabbling up the bed so his legs weren't hanging off the end.

"You show all the boys those elegant moves Kirkpatrick?" Lance grinned down at him, flashing back to the kinda dorky, should-be senior that Chris had never really thought about as somebody sexual. But then the spark was back in Lance's eyes and he was crawling up Chris' body like somebody'd shown him far too many Discovery Channel documentaries on the puma.

"Only the ones. Fuck, Lance. Only the ones that aren't blinded by my charm and roguish demeanour." Chris gasped out the final two words.

Lance looked up from where he'd been nuzzling at the tantalising gape at the crotch of Chris' pants.

"You still managing multiple syllables Chris?" Lance's smile headed on out past mischievous and into devilish as he undid the final two buttons and began caressing the skin right next to Chris' dick.

"Yep," Chris managed, his head thumping back against the pillows as Lance brushed his fingers lightly against Chris' balls. "I'm a master of erudition and... Oh fuck. And scholarliness and... Please. _God_. Just fuck me already."

"Well, if it'll get you to shut up." Lance said, his hands busy undoing Chris' boots and removing his socks before peeling Chris' leather trousers down his legs and getting himself naked. "You're a sexy bastard, but God knows how you get laid with that mouth."

"Oh I can show you exactly why I get laid with this mouth, if you come here Bass." Watching Lance get naked was a beautiful thing, but Chris felt it had restored the power balance somewhat. He was just about to make a grab for the other man to show him some of the talents that Chris had developed over his nearly 25 years on the planet, when Lance's hand closed firmly around Chris' cock, and what was left of his brain informed him that Lance was still most definitely in charge.

Lance's hand wasn't exactly a revelation. It was more like realising you'd been eating carob for years when chocolate was right there. It felt perfect.

Chris' hips arched up off the bed as Lance began to pump him firmly, putting a twist into every third stroke that had Chris moaning deep in his throat. And then Lance had two fingers from his other hand in Chris' mouth to stop noises Chris had never realised he could make, as Lance's mouth closed over the head of his cock and he began to suck.

Lance's mouth was hot and tight as he swallowed around Chris, his head bobbing as Chris's bucking hips got wilder, Lance's torso holding Chris' legs down so his thrusts were slightly more restrained. When one of Lance's fingers brushed against Chris' hole he almost propelled them both off the bed with the force of his orgasm, a yell right from his diaphragm leaving him breathless and panting, his hands clenching and unclenching at the air as Lance continued to nuzzle at him.

Lance ran the hand that had been fucking Chris' mouth down to clasp Chris' right hand. He gently kissed his way up the heaving chest and slid his right hand into Chris' left, fitting himself around Chris so that he could whisper into Chris' ear, one leg flung across Chris' lower body.

"Need a minute to recover there old man?" Lance's voice was back to the teasing lightness Chris found familiar, but he could recognise what was underneath now. And more importantly could figure out why he liked it.

He squeezed Lance's hands, still kind of astonished at their smoothness and what they could do to him.

"Yeah," Chris said, not even needing to look at Lance. Because it wasn't softness he'd felt in Lance's grip. It was ease.

**Author's Note:**

> Immense love to woolly_socks for beta and wibble-containment and turps33 for spanky-pants style encouragement.


End file.
